Song for a Winter's Night
by Miome
Summary: This story won the A-ano~ Award for Best Drama in 1998! A much older Chichiri goes on one final journey.


Notes: _Fushigi Yuugi_ is by Watase Yuu. I am merely borrowing a character or two - she's indeed a gracious lady, to allow me to do so. Absolutely no profit is being made by this fic. The title is borrowed from 'Song for a Winter's Night' by Sarah McLachlan, the inspiration for this fic. 

* * *

Chichiri rubbed his eyes, wondering if his difficulty seeing stemmed from weariness or his advancing age. The light flickered, and he trimmed the lamp's wick carefully, the long familiar gestures performed with thoughtless grace. 

The now-steady light shown down on the worn, scarred desktop, barely visible between stacks of papers. The clay inkpot lay in one of the clearings, with the wooden brush holder beside it. The ink stains on them varied from some fairly fresh splotches, to fewer and smaller ones, faded and worn. 

He looked wryly at his own hands. They, too, had a few small smudges of ink, and a few wrinkles betraying their age. They still possessed the capable strength of a younger man's, though the winter rains currently pattering on the rooftop of the palace sometimes made them ache and swell. 

A small sigh escaped his lips. He had a good idea why they hadn't begun to pain him this winter. Last winter Boushin had offered to have a wood stove installed in Chichiri's room, but the monk had refused the comfort in favor of asceticism. 

This past autumn construction had been done on a room beside Chichiri's, supposedly converting it to a storage space. The official in charge had been calculatedly vague on how the room was being changed, or even why it was necessary to hammer and saw to make it fit for storage space. And now his room was noticeable warmer than the rest of the palace. 

He supposed he should protest, perhaps even insist the oven be left unfueled . . . but the pain in his joints did hamper his movement, and keep him up at night. Time was he would have endured and conquered such things, but that was back when he was a monk and Suzaku no seishi. He was still those things, but his primary duty was to Boushin as Senior Advisor and assistant. 

He hadn't wandered in . . . a long time. Once, maybe ten years after Suzaku no miko had left Konan for good, he had managed to wrap up his duties to the empire enough to begin to travel. Within a week a messenger caught up to him, advising him that there was trouble with Kotou and he was needed immediately. The crisis turned out to be a misunderstanding about herding rights along the border, and was quickly resolved by consulting old maps in both Konan and Kotou. But after that there was drought in the eastenr corner of Konan, and then there was the Imperial marriage to prepare for. 

He smiled a little, and reached for the worn clay pitcher and mug sitting on the side table. Boushin had chosen well in the charming Kitori, and their children were a joy to behold. Not isolated from their parents, each other, or their various honorary aunts and uncles, their two daughters and younger son exuded a joy that could only come from those who are both loving and loved. 

There were moments, when the princesses asked his opinion of their newest sash or cooking attempt, or when the toddler of a crown prince climbed into his lap to ask for stories, when he thought that he might have liked to raise children of his own. A son to teach how to fish, or a daughter to tease about her suitors. 

These thoughts inevitably led him back to what he had lost, what was nearly half a century ago in the small village of his birth. The woman he loved, the friend he cherished, lost to the waters that raged out of control in the spring storms. 

He no longer blamed himself for what happened - he had seen too many times tragedies caused by the misunderstandings between people with strong feelings. Hikou had forgiven him, when Tenkou resurrected him, and Chichiri had even forgiven himself - and perhaps it was just the foolish fancy of an aging man, but he felt that his fiance had forgiven him, too. 

He didn't know why he had never used Mitsukake's gift to heal his ruined eye. Maybe it was a reminder to others, or maybe he had just lived with the scar so long it had become an indispensable part of himself. Or maybe he just liked the effect the transition from smiling mask to scar-faced solemnity had on those who would try to draw him into their politics. 

He looked down at his pile of paper, and decided there was nothing there that couldn't wait until tommorrow. He placed the empty cup on the tray and rose, unfolding more carefully than perhaps he once might have. He remembered with a chuckle the time it had been necessary to impersonate Hotohori and take on the duties of the emperor for a time - and the handstands he had done on the throne out of sheer and utter boredom. Thank Suzaku, at least boredom was not currently one of his problems. 

Not that there was anything there that couldn't be done by anyone else, but many found it reassuring to have the approval of someone not involved in the normal court politics. It was never really something he understood, but if it eased minds then he was willing. 

Now, though, a restlessness possessed him, much like that which had previously driven him to wander. He pulled on his heavy outer robe and opened the door, bracing himself for a rush of cold wetness. He was pleasantly suprised, then, to find the wind had calmed, and instead of rain webs of snow drifted to lace the ground. 

The children would be delighted, when they woke up in the morning to find the ground covered in snow. He tried to recall if the last time it had snowed had been before they were born, and was mildly surprised to find he couldn't remember. He did remember, though, the first time he had ever seen snow; it was in the spring of his seventh year, and it had been warm enough for several days that they thought surely winter was long gone. Then they awoke one morning to find the air chilled, and by nightfall the ground had a thin blanket. It had been barely enough to make snowballs with, and he and Hikou had scoured trees, rooftops, practically every inch of the village to find enough for just one more. Grinning, he remembered that Hikou had gotten the last laugh by dumping a double handful of cold, dirty, slushy snow down the back of his shirt. 

Across the garden floated the sound of laughter, young and light. It sounded as if two children would be in trouble tomorrow morning, when their mothers found out they sneaked out of bed. And of course she would know; mothers always do. His own was eerie that way, especially when she would say, without looking, "Don't do that" or "Go back and this time, wash the backs, too." She even knew, before he did, who he would ask to marry him. 

Suddenly, something she had said struck him. She had taken him aside, one day soon after the engagement was announced, and said, "Hougun, you do know that soon you'll be a married man." He had given her a strange look and said that of course he knew. "You won't have as much time to spend with old friends," she explained gently, "especially Hikou. Maybe you should try to find him a nice girl, so that he won't be lonely after you marry?" He had just laughed and teased her about match-making. 

He shook his head, shedding a few flakes of snow. He hadn't realized till after she was gone what a wise woman his mother really was. With a grin he wondered if perhaps that was a sign of, Suzaku forbid, maturity. 

Just to ward off such an evil thought, he quickly shrank to three feet high and leapt off the raised walkway and into the snow. It flew up around him in a great cloud, making strange curls and shapes in the air. He laughed aloud, then looked around guiltily. It would be embarrassing at least if he accidentally woke someone who had the common sense to be sleeping at this hour. 

Laughter rang out from another part of the garden, almost in response to his. He decided that if the noisy children hadn't woken anyone, he certainly wouldn't. On impulse, he scooped up a double handful of snow and fashioned a snowball that was reasonably firm if sloppy. He could almost see Hikou across the lawn, taunting him while he scrambled for ammunition. 

Then Chichiri started. There was someone walking from across the lawn, too tall to be a child. He considered hopping back on the walkway and trying to play it off, and decided it would be better to just stay where he was. If they decided to comment, he could just make some profound statement about eternal childhood. Everyone had already decided he was half-crazy anyway. 

The figure grew cleared as it approached. It was a tallish man, hair gathered at the back of his head, and both hands behind his back. Something about the walk, the set of his shoulders, was infinitely familiar to Chichiri. 

Then one arm whipped from behind it's back, and something was hurtling towards the snow-covered monk. Instinctively he threw up a shield, making the snow in front of him change instantly to steam. There was a sizzle as something hit the barrier, and Chichiri was chagrined to realize it was a snowball. 

"Gomen - " 

"That's cheating, Hougun! Take your licks like a man!" 

Chichiri was startled into silence. The tone, the timbre, everything was an exact copy of the one he had grown up with. But . . . 

"Hikou?" he whispered, sure he was loosing his mind. 

"Hey, cat got your tongue? Or is your silence defeat?" 

On a wild whimsy, Chichiri hurled the snowball he still held in his hands. It hit the other man smack in the middle of his face, making him lurch backwards. He didn't recover his balance in time, and sat down in the snow with a *whump*. Then he just started to laugh. 

Chichiri laughed too, and ran to him, extending hand. "Hey, are you alright no da?" Hikou grinned up at him, and yanked his hand, pulling him down beside him. He tried to pat him on the back, but Chichiri saw the snow in his hand too soon and twisted away, still laughing. 

"You haven't changed," chuckled Hikou, wiping his face. 

"Neither have you. Still using those same old tricks no da? Shame, shame," teased Chichiri. It felt so natural, and why not? They had been best friends since they were old enough to walk. 

"And you're still using that awful accent to get laughs!" 

"Why send a perfectly good horse to the butcher no da?" 

"Yeah, yeah . . . oops, I've got to get going, Hougun. I'm expected." Hikou stood and began brushing off his clothing. 

"Go?" Chichiri sprang to his feet, feeling an unexpected pang of loss. "Where? I don't have anywhere to be, I could walk with you." 

Hikou looked at him sadly. "Hougun, you wouldn't be able to get back. This path doesn't go two ways." 

"Path?" Hikou indicated behind him, and Chichiri's eyes traced the line of his footprints to a trail entering the treeline. He didn't remember seeing it ever before, especially in summer when it would have been more apparent. 

"If it doesn't go two ways, how did you get here?" 

His friend smiled. "I guess someone just thought it would be funny, to see you hit with a snowball. Speaking of which -" Chichiri quickly ducked, but Hikou's hand followed him down, handing a huge handful of cold wetness on the back of his head. 

"Eeech!" cried Chichiri, shaking his head fiercely. "That's cold!" 

"You expected . . . warm snow?" 

"Oh, how cute. Hikou make a funny." Hikou laughed, then crossed his eyes and stuck out his tongue. Chichiri seriously considered casting a freeze spell on it, then decided that face was just too ugly to put up with for long. 

"Well, my job is done," said Hikou, mock-heroic. He shook off some more snow, then put a hand on Chichiri's shoulder. "I miss you." 

"I can come with you," said Chichiri, almost desperately. 

"Hougun, you couldn't come back!" protested Hikou. He grabbed both shoulders and shook his best friend. "You'll never come back here!" 

Chichiri shook his head. "I'm a wanderer, no da. I've been here long enough; it's time to move on." Hikou stared a few moments, then laughed. "Well, if you're sure . . . c'mon, she's waiting." 

"Who is?" 

"Who do you think, stupid?" Hikou looked at his friend's incredulous face and chuckled. "Well, it was _you_ who said we would all be together . . . " 

"Hikou! We have to go!" cried a feminine voice from further up the path. Chichiri's eyes widened, riveted by the sight of the girl walking down the path towards them. She smiled and waved at him, and his heart stopped altogether. 

"Hougun!" Her feet crunched in the snow, which was all Chichiri could see of her. He could feel his face reddening, as he was attacked by the shyness he always felt around her. He could pratically hear the snicker Hikou was holding in at his behavior, but he just couldn't help it. 

He felt her finger pressing up under her chin, and he raised his head to gaze directly into her eyes. Her smile was as tender as her fingers were soft, and he felt as if he was falling into a well. He started when she suddenly leaned forward and pressed her lips against his, every bit of breath leaving his body. 

They stayed that way for a timeless moment, till Chichiri felt another set of arms go around him. Hikou embraced them both, and they moved apart a little to bring him in. Chichiri smiled as his best friends shared a brief kiss, then the three leaned on each other, lauging a little. There was a warmth in it, a togetherness that Hougun had missed in his time apart from them. 

Hikou smiled at his friends. "Shall we go, then?" The trio broke apart and dashed up the path, laughing and racing like children kept indoors too long, then set free. 

In a courtyard at Konan, the falling snow built crystalline palaces over a smiling mask, discarded in the garden. 

* * *

Miome, 2/21/98 


End file.
